I should’ve kissed you more, traced your muscles with my fingertips as the goosebumps raised from my touch.

I should’ve ran with you when you tried to drag me through that field, removing my clothes until I was as naked as you.

I should’ve listened to your stories, asked you for every detail as you tried to engage me.

I should’ve written you a note in the books I gave you, a lasting impression of my thoughts to you etched in each leaf.

I should’ve given you space when I heard your terse words, knowing that you wouldn’t be upset for long.

I should’ve held you close when you were silent and hurting.

I should’ve stopped, I should’ve listened, I should have been more.

But what should you have been?